She made herself turn her head from the pool, finally, and feigned sleep after pulling a towel over herself as if fearing sunburn. She hoped it was thick enough to hide her unruly nipples.
Sex in the French countryside with an alluring and imaginative woman hadn’t made a bit of difference. Since when had she ever had unruly nipples? Or muscles in her thighs that clenched at the sight of droplets across pale shoulders? With a constant feeling of being flushed and swollen and thirsty? And been so hungry, hungry all the way down into the pit of her stomach and deeper?
Never, that was when.
Never was terrifying. Or would be if Lily were to open her eyes and catch Nicole memorizing the shadow of her lashes on her cheeks.
Lily stirred when the car pulled up in front of their hotel. After confirming when they’d meet to go to their evening event, Nicole made a decorous departure, but she felt as if she were fleeing the scene of a crime.
For the first time she was dissatisfied with her wardrobe for an appearance. It was safe—slacks, blouses and a reliable suit jacket or a jacket-cut cardigan, all of which proclaimed her solidity of personality. While some of her colleagues enjoyed being mistaken for students, she did not. On campus she wanted to be presumed a professor; it was hard enough to be taken seriously in the sciences as a woman, let alone a woman of color.
Cole’s jacket was the only the article of clothing that sent a different message. The evening was far too warm to wear it and it would be inappropriate for the patio of a museum, where the event was scheduled. Their host was the mayor of Granada’s wife and Nicole felt she ought to look like an appropriate guest for what Lily had described as one of the “hot tickets” of the Granada social season.
She’d noticed how Lily recycled her clothing—but she seemed to have an endless selection of accessories. Lily hadn’t worn the same exact combination twice. After considering the time left, she made a quick visit to the hotel’s gift shop. She’d seen some jewelry in the display window that would make a nice memento of Spain, and Lily had made tonight’s event sound definitely upscale from a bookshop. About to check out, she saw two pretty bracelets that each copied one of the many mosaic patterns from the nearby Alhambra. She knew both her mother and Kate would like them. Grateful for the shopkeeper’s English, she arranged to have them sent home.
The moment she saw Lily in the lobby she was glad she’d made a little more effort with her hair and the addition of her new necklace and earrings. Lily had put her hair up with two glittery pins holding it in place. A long, lightweight jacket with the peacock pattern that she frequently wore covered the rest of her attire, and the shoes that Kate had so admired on the night they’d met were part of the outfit. The jacket was thin enough that she could tell the dress underneath was black.
“You’ve not worn that before,” Lily immediately said. “It’s a handsome piece—it suits you.”
Nicole nervously touched the simple teardrop pendant of topaz-colored glass. “I didn’t realize how tiring it would be to wear the same clothes over and over, so I bought something new.”
Lily gestured at her jacket as she led them to the waiting taxi. “Peacock feathers were all the rage when I bought my travel wear ensembles. I’m a little tired of blue, green and for a change, blue and green.”
When Nicole realized where their taxi was headed she felt a rush of what could only be called stage fright. “We’re going to the Alhambra itself? I thought this was a book club with some politicos.”
Lily’s nose was against her window, obviously entranced by the lush gardens. “Book club, hors d’oeuvres-slash-dinner, local wine tasting and a fund-raiser for the local libraries and schools all rolled into one evening. You’re this quarter’s invited guest. We’re going to the Paradores Museo, which was a convent built by Catholic monarchs when they moved into the already existing citadel. The gardens have been written and sung about for at least eight hundred years.”
She turned from the window, her face aglow. “I’ve been looking forward to this event the whole time. I’ve been to the Alhambra before, but we never made it to the convent. It’s like walking the green at the Tower of London, or sleeping in the ruins at Betatakin.”
Lily’s drop earrings caught the waning sunlight, dappling the inside of the cab with prisms of color. Nicole watched the lights dance across her lap, all the while wondering what potion she’d drunk or cookie she’d eaten to fall so far down this rabbit hole. Realizing she had to find her voice, she managed to say, “I’m pleased we’ll get to see it.”
They alighted from their taxi in the courtyard of the museum and joined the trickle of people going inside. Thankfully, none of the men were in tuxedos, though all wore business suits. The women were in dresses ranging from short and daring to long and flowing. Just inside the door they went through a cursory security screening and then Lily turned to the coat check. “Be right back.”
“Profesor Hathaway!” Nicole connected the exclamation to a tall, elegant older woman in a silky garment of black and white that wrapped and layered not unlike one of her mother’s saris. She was making the proverbial beeline toward Nicole. “It is un placer!”
Nicole shook the woman’s hand, already missing Lily at her elbow. “It’s wonderful to be here.”
“I am Margolis Hierro.” Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled sharply back into a twisting braid, and Nicole would not have been surprised to learn she claimed Moorish ancestry.
“Thank you for hosting this event in such a remarkable and historic place.” She caught the scent of Lily’s perfume and realized she’d returned. “May I introduce my assistant, Lily Smith?”
She turned with an inclusive gesture and watched as the two women shook hands. They lapsed temporarily into Spanish, which required no response from Nicole. This was a good thing as all the while Nicole struggled to simply breathe in.
She’d have had more success if she could have looked anywhere else, but just like at the pool, she couldn’t take her gaze away from Lily. This time she had no dark glasses to hide her fixation. The black cocktail dress Lily wore was stunning, cupping her shoulders and highlighting the curve of her neck, emphasizing her small waist and falling smoothly from hip to thigh. The drop earrings matched the pendant that rested an inch above the fabric covering her breasts. And while the dress clung to Lily in all the best places, it wasn’t, as her mother would have said, cheap. Sexy—but not cheap.
With the black patent heels adding inches to her height, her hair up and a bright, relaxed smile, she was elegant, classically lovely. Her mother again came to mind—she’d have compared Lily to Audrey Hepburn, her highest praise.
They had reverted to English as their hostess linked her arm with Nicole’s. “Please come and meet our most ardent literary supporters.”
Nicole could only hope Lily was following behind them. She was rapidly introduced to a dozen people in the crowd of about thirty, most of whom greeted her in English. She heard Lily laugh and her voice confidently rattling off something in Spanish, but she made herself not look. It would only take her breath away again. No water nymph, no Barbie—the consideration and kind smile wasn’t an act. It wasn’t something studied and false that Lily had learned. It was who she was. While Cole wanted to devour the water nymph whole, Nicole could scarcely stop herself from dissolving at Lily’s feet.
She made herself breathe and listen carefully to the men and women around her. Whenever at a loss for words she offered praise for their location and someone would give her another tidbit of the building’s history. Unlike the main building and citadel, the former convent was more stark in its stone design, with a deceptive, graceful simplicity that even a modern architect would envy.
The evening breeze was cool to her cheeks, and dinner was served on one side of the large patio at a curving table. Lily was seated toward one end while Nicole and Señora Hierro were at the center. She knew that the thinly sliced ham and small wedges of cheese with drops of golden honey were probably a local specialty an
d she missed Lily’s wealth of knowledge—how dependent I’ve become, she told herself.
Ah, she thought. At last her inner tensions made sense. She was allowing herself to feel inadequate, which heightened her vulnerability, increased Lily’s power quotient in the relationship and created this sensation of confusion where none ought to exist. She simply had to master her own confidence and the perception of her own loss of control would subside.
When she was back in her real life everything would go back to the way it was. All of this was merely an intermezzo.
When she managed to steal a glance down the table, the gentlemen to either side of Lily seemed openly dazzled, the way that pompous Rajesh had seemed over tea. On top of her own feelings of vulnerability in the foreign setting, it was further undeniable that Lily had sex appeal and much as Nicole might like to think she was immune to it, obviously she wasn’t.
She closed her ears to the throaty half-laugh she’d learned meant Lily was genuinely amused and focused on her immediate neighbors. They were all charming, and she didn’t need Lily near as they took turns with mixed levels of English to describe the sharp, aged cheeses and meats, the vineyards where the sweet to robust red wines were produced, and the regions that grew and cured the bitter, salty olives. The entrée of prawns with a traditional rice dish was delicious.
“I wish we were staying for several days. Lily and I would love to explore this area.”
“There is no place in Spain like Granada,” Señora Hierro pronounced, drawing murmurs of agreement from all around her. “Our history, our mixed cultures, our respect for our land makes Granada the jewel of Andalusia.”
Realizing too late that she may have had too much wine, Nicole lifted her glass to her hostess. “May I propose a toast, then?”
She had meant it as a gesture between her and those nearby, but a silence fell over the entire table. Not sure how to finish what she’d started, she rose to her feet—the wine definitely was having an effect—and smiled down the table in both directions without meeting anyone’s gaze. “As you know, I am a scientist. I use research and scientific inquiry to prove a thing is true. Señora Hierro tells me that Granada is the jewel of Andalusia. Having enjoyed these beautiful surroundings, tasted the splendid wine and the many delicious foods that were produced within just a few miles—kilometers, I mean—from here, I can safely say that my standards of proof have been met. A jewel, indeed.” She lifted her glass. “Viva Granada.”
Her final words were echoed around the table. She quickly sat down, hoping she’d said nothing foolish, and finally made eye contact with Lily. She received a wide smile and a half-wink that made Nicole’s ears burn hot against her head.
She turned down a glass of a yellow after-dinner drink that smelled of liqueur and citrus. Her earlier tipsiness had faded and she wasn’t going to indulge further. Most guests had glasses in hand as they all migrated to the other end of the patio where semi-circles of chairs were arranged. There was no microphone, but with a group of less than thirty Nicole wasn’t worried about being heard. The fragrant breeze had remained steady and the lights in the gardens around them had switched on. She was grateful to note that Lily was discreetly taking pictures—her mother would be endlessly charmed by the setting, and Nicole didn’t want to forget it either.
She began by thanking Señora Hierro for the hospitality, and acknowledged the cause of the evening. “A little more than a week ago a bookseller in Ireland told me that books are never dangerous. Not reading books is what’s dangerous. It’s clear to me that borders and history are not barriers to values we all hold in common. Indeed, the premise of my work in the fields of cognitive neuroscience and biopsychology is that underneath our skins, beyond our language, we are all much the same.”
She paused to assess whether she was losing her audience to the language barrier, but a glance at Lily brought a reassuring nod. “What I discovered in my research of how people find success in relationships is that the factors that contribute to long-term happiness involve a surprising amount of our DNA. Our bodies have about thirty thousand genes in total.” She gestured at what looked like a type of oak sheltering their end of the patio. “Before we are overimpressed with the size of our genome, this tree has likely forty thousand or more, and there are probably some insects in the gardens that make us look like single-cell xenophyophores—sea sponges.”
There was a polite murmur of laughter that helped her relax. Her nerves were finally settling. “It takes a thousand genes to smell perfume, and as many to hear laughter. The genes that make our senses function, plus those that power the mental electricity to imagine a future or anticipate a conversation, as well as the split- second evaluation of the flicker of an eye or the curve of a smile… There are likely fifteen thousand or more of our genes tied into that process. When people say ‘It’s all I can think about’ there’s a good reason why it feels that way.” Stop talking to yourself, she cautioned.
She cleared her throat. “We’re hard-wired to be creatures of community. It’s in our DNA numbers. Fifty percent of our genes help us negotiate safety, actualize compassion, form relationships, and recognize compatibility.”
Hoping she’d made a successful segue, she gave her shortest talk, one that focused exclusively on case studies that had been working well in bookstores. Follow-up questions were ones she’d been asked many times. Whenever language became an issue both Lily and Señora Hierro helped out. After thirty minutes, when waiters appeared at the patio entrance with several platters with what appeared to be a final tasty treat for the evening, she thanked the audience and closed.
People came up to ask further questions or to simply thank her for her talk, and Nicole finally relaxed. She realized that her nerves were not unlike those she got when going to cocktail parties with the university’s donors, some of whom were very wealthy and had the power to directly affect her department’s activities. It wasn’t a situation she liked, but sometimes it was necessary to prove oneself an appropriate guest.
With a deep breath she acknowledged the rest of the truth: she hadn’t wanted to appear a fool in front of Lily. Since that careful conversation on the train when Lily had gently pointed out that Nicole was talking over the average reader’s head, she had wanted to meet Lily’s standards. Somewhere along the way she had accepted Lily’s expertise in reading a crowd and setting a tone. But there was nothing out of the ordinary in that, she thought. It was merely an academic exercise in growth. It was rational to maximize the opportunity to communicate with laypeople…
She let herself watch Lily for a minute, noting how at ease her body language was with the men still gathered around her and how genuinely interested she appeared to be when they spoke. As Nicole watched, Lily turned from her group of male admirers to say something to a woman who was passing by her. Their conversation was immediately lively as they strolled to the bar. Clearly, Lily was in her milieu.
Even as she cynically noted that the men stared after Lily, she chided herself for being no better. Telling herself that Kate would be interested in Lily’s outfit—especially the shoes—she took a photo with her phone, then several others of the gardens. Kate would, of course, be interested in those as well.
Lily had hoped for a diplomat’s life, but that dream was on hold because of her parents’ crimes. She could do many other things and would, eventually. The faint voice of reason added that whatever path Lily chose, it would not lead to a small New Hampshire town. Lily would never be the content acorn, hunkered within a plain, safe husk, that Nicole was.
Not that Nicole was even thinking…It was an absurdity that she’d even made that comparison. But as she watched one of the bedazzled gentlemen again attach himself to group where Lily was conversing she wanted to say, “Go away. She’s mine.”
She’d just argued that she was hard-wired to have these feelings, but she didn’t accept that truth for herself. She didn’t tick the way most people did. Why should she start now?
“She’s mine…”
Those two words circled her brain for the rest of the evening and were still whispering in her ears back at the hotel when she finally fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” Nicole adjusted the heavy chain mail across her chest.
“It’s whimsical. It’s what the natives are doing. It’s Italy!” Lily twirled in front of the photographer’s full-length mirror. The rustle of her green skirts under the heavy velvet purple gown gave her great satisfaction. “The Insignis blogger will love it. You could have chosen a dress, you know.”
“I don’t wear dresses. I also could have chosen not to do this.”
The clank of Nicole’s armor boots gave Lily a pang of guilt. It was hot in the tent and if she was feeling the heat, Nicole had to be feeling it more. She took one last look in the mirror and adjusted the voluminous red wig with its pre-attached bevy of white and green ribbons. “Okay, I’ll stop primping. I must have been a princess in a previous life.”
She caught Nicole rolling her eyes, but didn’t comment. As she settled into the ornate chair, which would pass as a throne in a photograph but was primarily carved Styrofoam and gilt, she said, “Your sword is backward.”
“I can’t even walk with these fake tights tied up around my knees.”
The photographer launched into a series of instructions. Her Italian being limited to only the cognates shared with Spanish and English, Lily hoped she was right when she told Nicole, “You’re supposed to frown and look fierce. I’m supposed to look…enigmatic. I think. It’s enigmatic or constipated.”
Nicole stifled a laugh. “I would like to get out of this outfit. It weighs fifty pounds.” Her knight’s cape was a cleverly adapted piece of carpet, corded with gold and held into position over her street clothes with Velcro. Chain mail gloves with attached black knit sleeves covered her arms, and a thin cape of black netting fell far enough to meet up with the tights that covered her calves.
Love by the Numbers Page 17
